Like This
by emmamanic
Summary: If anyone asked, Clarke Griffin would call Bellamy Blake insufferable- insane, controlling, protective, childish, guarded, over the top, irresistible. Then again, no one ever asked.


_A/N- Hello friends! This itty one-shot sort of just happened last night. I love this pairing so much. Cover by wintersxldier on tumblr. Enjoy!_

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He was something of a mind game.

She would only let herself play it late at night in her tent- when the lights were off and her mind was on, that's when she'd let herself fall asleep to soothing thoughts of dark hair, dark eyes, dark matter- he was all that mattered, sometimes.

During the day, she would catch herself looking at him. Oh, that mess, what a mess, she had never met anyone, so, hm, _addictive._ She was caught, that nicotine stained boy.

The worst part, the _worst damn part _was that he wasn't even an idea- no, he was solid, so solid, and she couldn't brush this off like she could with Finn- he was all flash, sunny days, he was more of ecstasy, hot bursts that blew her away but left her feeling empty, cold. She had to keep getting hits, dropping her mind at the door, letting herself go, but this.

This was an affliction that she couldn't shake off. It burned slow, burned hot, and she couldn't blame anyone but herself when she finally gave up and pushed him against the side of the drop ship, him with him _goddamn _bedroom eyes _all the time, _that smirk, her lips.

She didn't tell anyone when he grabbed her in the forest and got her well acquainted with his burn- she smoldered, she was sure, mussed up hair when all they did was make out, somehow, he always gave off the impression of having thoroughly screwing someone over seconds before, and she _loved it. _

Of course, if anyone ever asked, she'd call him insufferable. She'd call him insane, looking at him through the corner of her eye, see him throw her a smirk, yes, she'd say, definitely insane. Then, she'd start smiling and lower her head, fighting the corners of her own mouth, _you traitor, _remembering the impression of his own the night before, or hour, if they'd gotten the chance.

She'd call him controlling- and that was true. So was she, truthfully, and every night they had a battle- sometimes, of wits, sometimes, of other things. Strangely enough, it always seemed to end in a draw. Protective, she'd say, as he pulled her away from the war, bedroom eyes flashing, as she'd pull back, molten, screaming that this was just as much her war as it was his. And he'd hand her a gun and give her a kiss, so hard, she'd start to buckle but he'd always catch her, stand her steady, then go back to fight.

Childish, she'd say, as he'd break into a smile the second she walked into a room. Like he sees the world through a different set of eyes. It's brighter, she'd say, he's brighter- like a child. Maybe that wasn't the best use of imagery, though, as the things they did were hardly G-rated.

She'd call him guarded, pulling at the threads of his life, of his story, pulling out a yarn, and he would roll his eyes and pull _her_ closer, saying the past didn't matter as long as they had now, and they would always, always have now. She'd just blush at his arms and prop him up on the starlight, pointing out the constellations as he nuzzled into her hair. He's completely too much, all of the time- over the top, she'd spill, always spilling over, staining her clothes, her skin, her memories- her new favorite color.

_Irresistible_, she would say, but at this point, nobody would be listening, and thank God for that- because she would be staring, slack-eyed, fog-minded, no holds barred, and he would be staring right back. Then, she would make a hasty excuse to leave and he'd drop his weapons without explanation, and somehow, they'd make it out alive. And she'd call him everything that she couldn't when others were watching, and he'd smile and call her princess, and she'd lose herself again. And she knows that if anyone ever wondered, she'd tell it all, from the midnight visits to the brightest days, the hours, the minutes, the moments that felt like years.

Then again, no one ever asked.


End file.
